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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29989497">Guilt is Irrelevant</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/shrekanddonkey/pseuds/shrekanddonkey'>shrekanddonkey</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Marvel Cinematic Universe, WandaVision (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/F, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, I Don't Even Know, Mind Control, Mind Control Aftermath &amp; Recovery, Original Character(s), Possessive Behavior, Slow Burn</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-05-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 18:22:09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>9,063</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29989497</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/shrekanddonkey/pseuds/shrekanddonkey</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>She has a good life here, she truly does. And Westview is the perfect place, there is nowhere else she’d rather be. She just wishes Agnes would stop trying to tell her otherwise.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Agatha Harkness/OC, Agatha Harkness/Reader, Agnes (WandaVision)/Reader, Wanda Maximoff/Vision</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>67</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>228</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. The Town</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>OKAY I need to update my other fics but I watched wandavision and FAM- how could I stay away???</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Life in Westview goes like this.</p><p>Dolores wakes up at six forty-five on the dot; not due to being an early bird, but because Mittens somehow <em>always</em> manages to find a way to crawl into the bed, shedding almost alarmingly all over her pillow. Dolores strokes Mittens for around ten minutes after that, mentally preparing for the day.</p><p>Though, why should she have to mentally prepare for the day? Life in Westview is <em>perfect</em>.</p><p>At seven o’clock, on the dot, Dolores makes Joseph his breakfast before he heads off to work. He eventually trudges downstairs at the sound of the kettle boiling, not a morning person himself, and reads the <em>Westview Reporter</em>, huffing as he flips through the pages and munching his eggs mechanically.</p><p>Dolores never understands why he <em>huffs</em>. He should <em>smile</em>. Nothing bad ever happens in <em>Westview</em>.</p><p>And then her husband leaves for work, briefcase in hand, and Dolores is left to clean the kitchen, scrubbing the already shimmering tiles and plumping the already plumped cushions; Dolores would hate to leave the house a mess. Though, watching Mittens carelessly leave hair as she crawls across the patio, she knows her hopes are fruitless.</p><p>And that is her morning in Westview.</p><p> </p><p>--</p><p> </p><p>“The event means everyone will dress <em>formally</em>,” Dottie preaches at the women; Dolores has been trying to care throughout the meeting, but every so often she can actually <em>feel </em>her eyes glazing over, and knows it’s truly a lost cause.</p><p>“That means you, <em>Beverly</em>,” Dottie eyes her target, an eyebrow arched. “Polka dots? <em>Really</em>, Beverly? Maybe something more elegant next time, hm?”</p><p>Beverly glances down, her cheeks reddening- <em>reddening</em>?- darkening. Dolores wants to say something, she <em>does</em>, but it would be impolite, <em>indecent</em>. And no one says anything to Dottie, Dottie with her high cheekbones and condescending head tilt when she thinks someone’s said something <em>cute</em>. Dottie, who invites all of the committee members to luncheon <em>but</em> Dolores, her only answer to that being a careless shrug and a <em>maybe when you’re older, dear</em>.</p><p>Dolores should say something, but that would cause a stir, and why ruin Westview? It’s perfect.</p><p>“Dolores,” Dottie continues, and Dolores tries not to flush at the attention garnered her way. “Do you have the flowers ready?”</p><p>She nods, deflating ever so slightly- it’s a question she can answer, after all. “I have the roses in my garden, I’ll put them in vases- pretty ones- it’ll be ready by Thursday.”</p><p>“Oh good,” Dottie says with something ever so mocking in her tone; Dolores knows whatever words come from her mouth next will be <em>biting</em>. “You garden. We’re all so pleased you have ways to fill your time while we’re at our luncheons.”</p><p>“Sorry I’m late,” a voice appears out of nowhere, interrupting Dolores’ bristle. She turns around slightly, her mouth parting open at the dark-haired woman in front of the committee, smiling from ear to ear. Dressed in a flowing dress and hair done up rather stylishly.</p><p>She’s <em>beautiful</em>.</p><p>“Terrible traffic,” the woman laughs, and everyone laughs with her, laughs as if this is typical, as if there’s familiar fondness between all in the room. Does Dolores know this woman? Everyone else seems to.</p><p>“Have a seat, Agnes,” Dottie gestures to the empty chair, right beside Dolores, before turning her attention to Cindy, who always looks like she’s ready to flee the scene when Dottie so much as <em>glances</em> in her direction. Dolores can certainly relate, but doesn’t voice her opinion to the public. She settles for minding her own business, and productively attempts to tune in to Dottie’s increasing list of demands.</p><p>“What’s a girl gotta do to get a drink around here?” Warm breath tickles her ear, and Dolores almost jumps out of her chair before quickly coming to her senses. She looks to her left to find the woman- <em>Agnes</em>- staring at her, amused.</p><p>“Relax, honey, I don’t bite. But I <em>do</em> drink, especially after seeing what this meeting has to offer.”</p><p>“I- uh- there’s tea around back.”</p><p>Agnes chuckles, her lips stretching wide; all Dolores can do is stare, mesmerised. “Not that kind of refreshment, honey. Aren’t you sweet.” Agnes stares at Dolores for a few seconds (a few seconds too many, too much <em>attention</em>), and raises her eyebrows at what she seems to deduct.</p><p>“How old are you, honey? What’s an ankle biter like you doing around us bingo players?”</p><p>“I’m not a chi- I- um, Louisa asked me to join, she said it would, uh, be fun.”</p><p>Agnes squints, before shaking her head slowly, practically tutting. “And you believed her.”</p><p>“It’s not bad,” Dolores protests and she doesn’t even know why, because objectively, there could be slight improvements. (But nothing’s flawed in <em>Westview</em>.) “We’re planning the school dance- there- people can dress up.”</p><p>Agnes gasps dramatically, something light glittering in her eyes. “Well colour me surprised, sugar! Had I known there was a dress code, I would’ve left Ralph at home sooner!”</p><p>Dolores breathes out a startled laugh, stuttering out a reply. “I’m in charge of the flowers?”</p><p>Agnes’s grin can only be classified as <em>mischievous</em>. “Oh, I’ll be damned! I’m starting to see why a young girl like you can’t stay away from this <em>bash.</em>”</p><p>“Excuse me,” Dolores snaps her head to the sound of Dottie, both hands placed on her hips. (She notices from the corner of her eye Agnes lean back lazily, not a care in the world- it’s almost scandalous, really.) “Is there anything you’d like to add to the conversation, Dolores?”</p><p>“I- um- no?”</p><p>Agnes laughs, flapping a hand carelessly and leaning further back into her chair. “We’re just counting the days ‘til that dance, Dottie. On the edge of our seats and <em>peachy keen</em>. Isn’t that right, hon?”</p><p>Dolores manages a nod, peering at Dottie in anticipation. <em>No one</em> talks like that to <em>Dottie</em>.</p><p>But Dottie doesn’t react in the way Dolores predicts. She appears stern at first, and then- just so- a change happens. She straightens minutely, an invisible light bulb seemingly switched on, and returns to her conversation with Cindy, who’s back to looking as white as a sheet.</p><p>And <em>no one notices this happen</em>.</p><p>Dolores turns confusedly to Agnes, who’s regarding her in turn with a slanted upturned lip, eyes crinkling at the corners. But there’s something ever so <em>fake</em> in her expression, something she’s only truly noticing now, something that makes her feel like Cindy in this moment. Like even a cool breeze could trigger her to run.</p><p>It’s an odd sensation to have in <em>Westview</em>.</p><p>“What do you think of this town, honey?” She asks, though it comes out clipped, pronounced as a statement rather than an inquiry. Agnes talks like she already knows the answer, and for some reason this does not sit well with Dolores.</p><p>“Westview is perfect,” she replies automatically, because it’s true. She may not know many things in this world, but her love of this small town will forever be cemented, will forever be a true, indisputable declaration.</p><p>Agnes continues to stare for a few more seconds (<em>a few more seconds too many</em>) before beaming at her, a smile so large Dolores almost thinks Agnes has forgotten how to frown. A beautiful smile nonetheless. Dolores doesn’t remember herself why she is smiling this way, but she can’t help but stare.</p><p>“Isn’t it just?”</p><p> </p><p>--</p><p> </p><p>Life in Westview goes like this.</p><p>Dolores gardens at three o’clock precisely, planting seeds that will bloom in a variation of flowers. She is particularly excited about the lilies, but the orchids are also looking quite promising. Mittens is usually there to keep her company, purring in satisfaction whenever she lays her head on Dolores’s knee.</p><p>She gardens until six o’clock, on the dot, where she goes to prepare Joseph his dinner. He eventually trudges into the house from work, briefcase in hand, and the meal is usually a silent affair, an offhand comment here and there to fill in the dominating void of speech. After they’ve eaten, Mittens is fed and taken to bed. And after some reading and a glass of his favourite scotch, Joseph usually follows suit.</p><p>Dolores is left to clean the table, scrubbing the tiles and plumping the cushions. When this is done she looks out of her window, seeing the pitch black of the night that veils her town, and knows that there could be nothing more perfect than what this life has to offer.</p><p>(Somewhere, deep down, something in her is <em>screaming</em>.)</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. The Husband</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you so much for your response! It really means a lot whenever someone gives kudos or leaves a comment! You're all sweeties and I love you like crazy</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>On Monday evening, Joseph comes home with a promotion.</p><p>“This is it, Dolores,” he says, pouring himself a generous amount of brandy. But he’s happy, and Dolores finds it refreshing, so she doesn’t really mind any drunken mess that will be made.</p><p>“This is what I’ve been waiting for, what <em>we’ve</em> been waiting for.”</p><p>“I’m glad,” Dolores says, not sure what else to say. “You’ve worked <em>so</em> hard for it, Jo.”</p><p>He chuckles, his throat rasping as he gulps down his drink, lounging on his chair while his foot repeatedly taps the floor. “You’re god damn right. Finally getting the recognition I deserve. We should celebrate- invite my colleagues over tomorrow night, will you? I’ll buy port.”</p><p>Dolores resists the urge to say no, because Joseph’s actually smiling, and Joseph never looks this pleased. How can she refuse her husband? Sure, she may have to invite <em>Dottie</em> if Phil is to be there, and it might be a stressful, last minute organisation, but she’s a good wife. Westview is perfect and she is a <em>good wife</em>.</p><p>“I’ll get right on that.”</p><p>He looks pleased as punch. “Good woman. Come here.”</p><p>When Joseph pulls her to his lap, she almost gasps, because she can’t remember the last time her husband was this affectionate. She rests her hand over the small of his back as his arms circle her waist, his sharp chin pressing into her shoulder. He gazes up at her with proud eyes, smug, even.</p><p>“This could be us set. The raise- it’s what we’ve been waiting for. We can start a family now, two boys, a girl. Just like we always wanted.”</p><p>Dolores thinks of the image: their own children, with Joseph’s freckles and Dolores’s big eyes. It’s a pretty picture, and yet, she has to force a smile. Because there is something in her stomach resembling a <em>pit</em>, and it’s weighing her down as effectively as an anchor, but, for the life of her, she doesn’t understand <em>why</em>.</p><p>“Two boys and a girl?”</p><p>Joseph hums in affirmation, holding her tighter to him. And <em>oh</em>, she can’t remember the last time they’ve been like <em>this</em>. “John, Jack and Sally.”</p><p>Dolores furrows her brows. “You’ve thought about this?”</p><p>He looks at her as if she’s being daft. “What else is there to think about, Dolores?”</p><p>Perhaps he’s right.</p><p> </p><p>---</p><p> </p><p>For a last minute celebration, it actually turns out rather well.</p><p>A surprising amount of people are there- Dolores barely knows most of them and they in turn refer to her as <em>Dorothy</em>, but there is laughter in the air, and Dottie is on the other side of the room, having not even so much as glanced in Dolores’s direction. All in all, it’s a win, and she knows Joseph will not be disappointed when he looks back on this night.</p><p>Still, Dolores is not much of an extrovert. She enjoys the company of people, but she finds it hard to gain their company in the first place. She’s too shy, too awkward to have interactions with people she’s never met, and even when she does try, she hates the attention of everyone looking in her direction. The only reason she’s friends with Louisa is because for some reason she took a liking to her. But Louisa can’t make it tonight, and Dolores honestly considers locking herself in her room and playing catch with Mittens.</p><p>She also considers, perhaps just this once, drinking something that isn’t water.</p><p>“Fancy seeing you here, honey.”</p><p>Dolores turns around at that all too recognisable voice that commands attention and tries not to blush under Agnes’s gaze. She’s incredibly beautiful tonight, a velvet blazer fitted well and a checked dress that flows just above her ankles. A wolf in sheep’s clothing, Dolores thinks, and then corrects herself. There are no <em>wolves</em> in <em>Westview</em>.</p><p>And yet, after their first meeting, Dolores has the urge to talk to anyone else. Including Dottie. It might be a harsh thought, but Dolores knows herself to be a cautious human being.</p><p>“Agnes, thanks for coming. How are you?”</p><p>“As right as rain, gorgeous!” She surveys the house casually, “Neat house you got here. Could eat my food off the floor.”</p><p>And Dolores, being the awkward individual she is, replies with:</p><p>“Thank you, I scrubbed it myself.”</p><p>Why does Dolores talk? <em>Ever</em>?</p><p>Agnes hums at that, eyeing her with genuine amusement. “That’s good to know, dear. What a gas!”</p><p>“I mean- that was stupid of me to say-”</p><p>“Oh honey, no. Beats hearing Ralph talk about work. Or talk in general. Or exist, really.”</p><p>That gains a surprised chuckle from Dolores. “Is Ralph your-”</p><p>“Husband? I prefer tenant.”</p><p>“Is he-”</p><p>“Here tonight? If your house was flooded with beer, I’m sure you he’d be here in a jiffy. You probably wouldn’t need a plumber either, that man can drink like a <em>fish</em>.”</p><p>“It’s scotch for Joseph,” she surprises herself here, because she never speaks about Jo to <em>anyone</em>. “He wouldn’t set foot in his party if there wasn’t any on the table. He’s- ah- introverted. Without his drink.”</p><p>Agnes raises her cup to Dolores’s glass of water. “To husbands, can’t live with ‘em. Oh, here’s an idea! Let’s become nuns, renounce men for good.”</p><p>“That would mean- should I call you Sister Agnes?” She says with a grin, something within her perking at the surprised, genuine laugh that comes from Agnes’s mouth, and another part of her shocked that she’s managed to make someone <em>laugh</em>.</p><p>“Just don’t ask me to refrain from the communion wine.”</p><p>“I’m sure you’d be the first suspect if any were to go missing.”</p><p>The older woman places a hand over her heart. “You think I’d get caught. How <em>precious</em>.”</p><p>Before she can reply, she feels a hand slide around her waist, a new weight by her side.</p><p>“You know how to host, darling,” Joseph murmurs into her ear, seemingly oblivious to Agnes who’s watching him with her head tilted. His breath is warm, she can smell the strong whiff of alcohol all too well. “Heard someone complement our garden.”</p><p>Dolores can’t help but perk up. “Did they like the lilies?”</p><p>Joseph shrugs, now focused on the woman in front of them. “Who’s this?”</p><p><em>At last, someone who, like her, isn’t familiar with Agnes</em>.</p><p>“Oh, where are my manners. The name’s Agnes.”</p><p>“Joseph,” he inclines his head and shakes her hand firmly in greeting, before turning back to Dolores. She would reprimand him for being rather rude, but Joseph has never been able to take a scolding well.</p><p>“We got any more food?”</p><p>“I’ll go prepare more,” Dolores replies automatically, unthinkingly. Before she can move, however, her arm is linked with another, away from her husband.</p><p>“Goodie,” Agnes says cheerily, “I’m rather peckish myself.”</p><p> </p><p>--</p><p> </p><p>Thankfully, it’s just them two in the kitchen; Dolores doesn’t think she could handle any snide comments from Dottie, or any type of conversation with Joseph’s colleagues, who, last time she properly interacted with them, looked her up and down and <em>whistled</em>. She also, interestingly enough, is beginning to enjoy Agnes’s company; she likes the sound of her voice, and once her new friend begins to speak, it’s hard to get her to stop.</p><p>“It never rains here,” Agnes is saying, chopping up some carrots for the salad at an alarming speed. “Gotta live somewhere where the hair doesn’t frazzle. Perfection like this isn’t as effortless as you’d think, if you catch my drift.”</p><p>“Did you ever live anywhere else?” Dolores asks, curiosity getting the better of her. Agnes seems…too big for this town.</p><p>Wait, she didn’t mean that- Westview is <em>perf</em>-</p><p>“I’ve visited places here and there. Spent a while in Massachusetts, but didn’t really, <em>enjoy the crowd</em>, so to speak.”</p><p>“And then you came to Westview?”</p><p>Agnes makes a sound of disagreement absentmindedly, though Dolores doesn’t think that reply is sincere. “Lived here all my life, hon.”</p><p>“Oh.” Dolores frowns. “But- we’ve never met. How is that possible?”</p><p>The older woman peers at her through her eyelashes, still cutting through the vegetables. “How long have you lived here, sweetie?”</p><p>“I”-</p><p>Dolores tries to think.</p><p>Hasn’t she always lived here? It feels that way, she can’t imagine living anywhere else, can’t imagine having lived anywhere else. But she tries to think of her life before Westview- was there a <em>before Westview</em>? Why can’t she <em>think</em>? Why is her mind drawing blanks what’s <em>wrong</em> with her why is she being so <em>stupid</em>-</p><p>A sharp inhale snaps her out of her reverie, and she snaps her head towards the sound. Agnes is frowning at her hand, dark liquid pooling out as she pouts at the knife, the culprit, now on the table.</p><p>“Ow.” The woman states, not seemingly in pain, but instead opting for frustration. She turns to Dolores and her countenance changes, like she’s been caught playing a part that doesn’t compliment the script.</p><p>“Oh! Silly me!” Agnes laughs as if her hand <em>isn’t bleeding</em>. She’s rather odd, Dolores realises. “Can’t even cut a carrot without slicing myself wide open!”</p><p>Dolores tries not to think of the all too visual image and attempts to take Agnes’s cut hand in hers. The woman in question jerks away from the touch.</p><p>“Honey, didn’t I just meet your husband? What would the bread winner think?”</p><p>Dolores gives her a wry grin, gently taking back the hand in hers; luckily this time, Agnes allows it. “I thought we were becoming nuns? I’m good with cuts, I can help, if you’d like?”</p><p>Agnes shrugs, but there’s something in her gaze that Dolores can see, clear as day. Agnes is clearly <em>surprised </em>at this display, and that makes Dolores sad. No one should be surprised at being <em>helped</em>.</p><p>Dolores gently guides Agnes to the sink, taking a fresh cloth and placing pressure on the wound, wiping off the blood in the process. Agnes says nothing, simply staring at the hand being mended with an almost baffled expression.</p><p>“Thankfully it’s shallow. You won’t need stitches.” She flashes her a shy, toothless smile, “Maybe don’t cut anymore carrots?”</p><p>“Doctor’s orders?” Agnes replies, inspecting her hand that’s still placed in Dolores’s.</p><p>“It’s more common sense, really.”</p><p>Agnes’s laugh sounds far away, as if not really listening. She takes her cut and brings it at face level, wiggling it a little and leaving Dolores’s own hands empty. “Well, that’s a story to tell the husband.”</p><p>“I might have plasters, I’ll go upstairs-”</p><p>Agnes shakes her head, not firmly but resolute in her posture. There’s something in her eyes that wasn’t there before though. All Dolores can resemble it to is that of <em>intrigue</em>.</p><p>“I’m a fast healer, should be gone by tomorrow.” She yawns, and Dolores is too polite to point out that it’s fake. “I should be going myself. Babysitting and all.”</p><p>“Oh- you’re a nanny?”</p><p>“Have been for thirty years now. Have the ring to prove it,” Agnes flashes her a wink, not before giving her a brief glance that appears as more of a squint. She wiggles her fingers in the air in one last salute, and when she leaves, Dolores finds herself staying in the kitchen for a while, chopped carrots the only sign there was ever someone else with her.</p><p> </p><p>---</p><p> </p><p>Dolores wakes up at six forty-five on the dot; scratching Mittens’s fur, uncaring at the shedding that is now simply routine. She goes about her morning as she usually does; Joseph eats his breakfast with vacant eyes and mechanically chews his oatmeal before heading to work. She cleans the house, as per usual, and puts on a hat and jacket when heading outside. The weather’s always lovely in Westview, but Dolores can be cautious at the little things.</p><p>But leaving her house, Dolores realises this isn’t a usual morning at all.</p><p>Her house has…moved.</p><p>She can’t explain it, but she was sure she lived opposite the Jonses. Mary’s even been around twice to teach her how to rub wine stains off the carpet, and her son Dylan always waves at her when he comes home from school.</p><p>But their house <em>isn’t there</em>. And her other neighbour’s houses <em>aren’t there either</em>.</p><p>Dolores must be going <em>mad</em>.</p><p>The door next to her house (<em>her</em> house?) jiggles open, and out comes the woman who was certainly <em>not</em> living there yesterday.</p><p>“Howdy neighbour! Loving that Westview weather today, am I right?”</p><p>Dolores is officially going mad.</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. The Friend</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>love love love u guys! ur support is completely making this fic what it is :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p> </p><p>Gossip in Westview spreads like wildfire.</p><p>Dolores can’t say she’s met everyone in this town, and yet she’s heard enough to hear anyone’s name and know their life story. She doesn’t know Dana Blaine from Adam, but she <em>does</em> know that Dana’s been eyeing her gardener more than is considered appropriate, or that her husband spends a little <em>too much</em> time away from home. That Dana says she has plans every Friday night, but really goes down to the local library with a pint of ice cream, and spends this time reading in a corner.</p><p>Gossip carries rapidly and unashamedly, and it makes Dolores sad. Because it’s no one’s <em>business</em>, because what Dana does with her own time should be protected within her bubble of privacy. And who is anyone to judge? Dolores could use a pint herself, but Jo is firmly against it, arguing it would be damaging for her figure.</p><p>But no matter what Dolores thinks, she’s too shy, too <em>weak</em> to say anything when she hears Dottie unabashedly speak of everyone under the sun like it’s <em>her</em> life, like it’s <em>her</em> secret to tell. It’s- it’s <em>infuriating</em>.</p><p>“And did you <em>see</em> Cecelia’s dress?” She tells her mini audience; Dolores is arranging the flowers, trying to mind her own business. Difficult to achieve: Dottie is <em>loud</em>.</p><p>“Up to her <em>knees</em>! No wonder she can’t find a husband.”</p><p>“Dottie,” Jane gasps, but there’s a smile in her voice, “you can’t <em>say</em> that!”</p><p>There’s a shuffle, as if she’s shrugging. “You can’t wear something like <em>that</em> and expect us to be silent.”</p><p>The grip on the flower stems tighten, Dolores feels her stomach beginning to constrict. And she’s about to say something, she really is, but she then hears her name being whispered, and her clench loosens significantly.</p><p>“I heard that Dolores spent the whole of her husband’s party by herself. Bit weird, isn’t it? At her own husband’s promotion party?”</p><p>“She’s always been an odd sort,” Mary agrees, and Dolores doesn’t want to be here anymore, she wants to place her flowers in the vases and leave <em>now</em>. “The loner type, I think. Shame, such a pretty face, wasted.”</p><p>“Pretty,” Dottie snorts, Dolores bites her cheek, “with eyes that big?”</p><p>The girls all laugh, and did laughter ever sound cruel before this? Dolores never thought she’d hate the sound of amusement, never realised it could be used as a weapon. She takes her bag with her and leaves the stage room quietly, feels eyes burning into the back of her skull in her wake.</p><p> </p><p>---</p><p> </p><p>Agnes is outside of the building, her arm lazily draped over the gate. She doesn’t seem to notice Dolores at first, which is probably for the best. She’s not sure she wants to speak to anyone right now, especially someone with as high an energy. But one turn of the head and Agnes’s eyes find hers immediately, not allowing Dolores to look away.</p><p>“Heya, neighbour! Long-time no see!”</p><p>Her neighbour.</p><p>Right.</p><p>Dolores does think she may be out of the loop. <em>No one</em> in this town has batted an eye at the sudden housing change- even <em>Joseph</em>, when she confided in him that <em>wasn’t it off that Agnes was living next door?</em> Had scoffed and replied with a sardonic <em>funny how you can tune out the inane chatter coming from the nearby window</em>.</p><p>As if he <em>hadn’t</em> met her the night before, dismissive as it was.</p><p>Dolores wants to ask questions, she for once in her life wants to <em>pry</em>; but for some reason this sets a tension in between her eyes. Asking questions is <em>wrong</em>: this mantra repeats obsessively, a never-ending pounding in her head whenever she considers pointing out that something isn’t <em>right</em>.</p><p>There’s a tug on her hair, not rough, but enough to pull her away from her jungle of a mind. Agnes is now right in front of her, close enough to smell her perfume.</p><p><em>Lavender</em>. It’s quite lovely.</p><p>“Where do you go in that pretty little head of yours?” Agnes asks cheekily, but it sounds more like she’s wondering aloud.</p><p>Dolores has now fully snapped out of her <em>moment</em>, and gives Agnes a sheepish grin. “Sorry- bit out of it today- we’ve been preparing for the school dance since noon.”</p><p>Agnes hums, smug. “That’s why you don’t volunteer for the day job, hon.”</p><p>“Are you volunteering too?”</p><p>“That’s right, gorgeous. I’m making sure the kids don’t drink. Delightful job, really! Makes me wanna <em>bust a gut</em>.”</p><p>Dolores furrows her brows. “Shouldn’t you be- inside then?”</p><p>Agnes nods. “I certainly should.”</p><p>She doesn’t move. There’s a moment of silence.</p><p>And then Agnes <em>cackles</em>, the sound full of joy and almost chaotic in its nature. It’s a beautiful noise, so unfiltered to the other laughs in this town; Dolores can’t help but follow suit, and when she does, she finds it difficult to stop, clutching her waist in support. It feels <em>good</em> to laugh like this, it’s a breath of fresh air, from what, she’s unsure.</p><p>When they recover, Agnes leans back against the gate, not having a care in the world. She’s still smiling though, the corners of her lips tugged upwards in contentment. Dolores doesn’t think there’s anyone else that can do that, that can influence the mood of whoever is with her effortlessly.</p><p>“How was flower duty?”</p><p>Dolores can’t help but perk a little, she knows her eyes are brightening with excitement. “The flowers look wonderful- I made the vases you see, they’re inscribed with patterns, you can use pencil on the clay before the vase dries- it takes longer than you’d think, but it’s surprisingly easy to make pottery- well, once you get the hang of it of course, I’m still not perfect but I’m actually proud of- I’m rambling-”</p><p>“Keep going,” Agnes says, looking at her like she’s observing something <em>particularly</em> interesting. Dolores hasn’t ever felt <em>interesting</em> before.</p><p>“Well, there’s not really much else to it.”</p><p>“How ‘bout you teach me? It sounds bitchin’. I’ve never made a vase before, I probably need something to <em>brighten</em> up my house.” She laughs to herself at that; Dolores is starting to wish she was <em>also</em> in on the joke.</p><p>“Do you have hobbies?”</p><p>Agnes’s expression turns sly. “This you trying to make friendly conversation?”</p><p>Dolores feels caught out. “I’m a tad awkward.”</p><p>“You’re very awkward,” Agnes agrees, but she’s not saying it meanly, so Dolores isn’t embarrassed just yet. “But it’s <em>adorable</em>. Please continue.”</p><p>“I- what do you want me to say?”</p><p>“Anything, gorgeous gal! Oh, how about why you came out of that school lookin’ like you ate a whole lemon. Consider me intrigued.”</p><p>Dolores is confused for a split second- she didn’t realise Agnes had seen her appearing down in the dumps. But her new-neighbour is more perceptive than she obviously gives her credit for. Sadly, that feeling comes back, her insides squirming in shame of Dottie’s casual cruelty. Should she feel ashamed, embarrassed of what was said? It’s not like she can help it.</p><p>“It’s silly,” Dolores shrugs, but her tense shoulders make the action look forced, mechanical. She tries not to fidget, <em>damn</em>, she wants one of Joseph’s cigars, vile as they are. Would Agnes have any? She’s not sure what Agnes has in her arson. Agnes is not a predictable person, and that is putting it lightly.</p><p>“Can’t be that silly if you’re making that face,” Agnes bumps her hip lightly against hers, the nudge coming across as more of a probe.</p><p>Dolores frowns, “a face?”</p><p>Agnes raises her eyebrows. “Someone’s avoiding the question.”</p><p>“It’s nothing, just petty gossip. People don’t mind their own business, is all.”</p><p>Agnes gasps, a sound of betrayal, though it’s too exaggerated to be sincere. “Oh, honey, I’m the <em>notorious</em> town gossip- oh, well you’re right, I’m a nosy one! Can’t help it, some things are just too <em>delicious</em> to leave alone.”</p><p>Dolores shakes her head. “That’s- that’s different- you’re not malicious.”</p><p>“Oh heavens no, we wouldn’t want any <em>Wicked Witches</em> in this town.”</p><p>Dolores isn’t looking at her- but from the corner of her eye, it looks like Agnes is winking at <em>thin air</em>.</p><p>Ridiculous. Dolores should probably consult a therapist, if Joseph would allow it.</p><p>“Seems to me like there are <em>some</em> witches here. Let me guess, Dottie Jones doesn’t know how to bite her tongue?”</p><p>Dolores stutters. “H-how did you”-</p><p>“Ah, a woman’s intuition. Most powerful thing of all. So, what did she say?”</p><p>Dolores doesn’t lie, here. She just avoids the real reason she’s in a tizzy.</p><p>“Just mean hearted conversations. I don’t think it matters how high someone’s dress is.”</p><p>Agnes nods her head, though her dubious squint tells Dolores she knows there’s more to it. Luckily, her neighbour doesn’t push.</p><p>“Dottie’s the alpha type- well, a wannabee alpha type. Probably gets power off her little criticisms,” Agnes looks at her nails, something pleased in her beginnings of a smirk. “She’ll never know what <em>true power</em> really is.”</p><p>Dolores has to pick at that statement, curious. “Do you?”</p><p>Agnes’s face turns pensive. She looks ahead of her, into nothing, her pleased countenance morphed into something darker. “I thought I did. Westview’s made me- curious, you could say.”</p><p>Dolores doesn’t know what to say to that, so she opts for silence. Agnes shakes herself out of whatever was occurring in her mind, her bright demeanour back in play. “Don’t let that woman make you stew, hon. Dottie won’t ever have a true gal in her life! Not like us,” and she bumps her hip again into Dolores’s, a glint in her eye.</p><p>Dolores can’t help be hopeful at this, her expression timid as she looks at the older woman.</p><p>“So- so we’re <em>friends</em>, Agnes?’</p><p>Agnes gives her a grin; it’s different from the ones she usually dishes out: more relaxed.</p><p>“Of course we are, silly girl! Would be awkward for the neighbourhood if I put poison in your oatmeal, now, wouldn’t it?”</p><p>Dolores huffs out a startled laugh and Agnes follows suit.</p><p>“That’s- I’m glad. I don’t have many friends in this town.”</p><p>Agnes rolls her eyes slowly, “that’s because people in this town are <em>idiots</em>, silly girl.”</p><p>Dolores laughs again, she knows Agnes doesn’t really mean it. Westview is perfect, after all.</p><p>“But not us?”</p><p>“But not us.”</p><p>And it’s strange, how the crisp, cold air thickens. Dolores basks in it momentarily, the back of her head oddly silent.</p><p>Only momentarily, though. Dolores knows she has to face the music, set up the flowers, avoid eye contact with Dottie. The simple things, her routine.</p><p>“I should- ah, get back. Those flowers won’t arrange themselves.”</p><p>Agnes groans loudly, “I’ll head home, then. Those kids can spike the punch just fine without Auntie Agnes’s permission. Goodnight, silly girl!”</p><p>Dolores laughs- she hasn’t laughed this consistently since- well, she doesn’t know how long it’s been. When she leaves to head inside, she can’t help but watch Agnes walk away, the sway of her hips effortless and the moonlight framing her figure.</p><p>She doesn’t think much about Dottie for the rest of the night, doesn’t actually think of much until the next day. Where Dolores meets a woman named Wanda.</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>don't worry, we're leaving the 50s soon! and Wanda??? who could this woman be?????</p>
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<a name="section0004"><h2>4. The Neighbour</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Sorry for the wait! Hopefully u like this chapter ;)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Dolores wouldn't ever say she's particularly pretty.</p><p>She isn't immune to the allure of pop culture, she's seen what classifies as beautiful. Marilyn Monroe is dominating Los Angeles with her blonde beauty and careless charm, the big bold headline whenever Hollywood is mentioned.</p><p>And Dolores is none of what Marilyn possesses.</p><p>Her features are too big, her eyes <em>enormous</em>. Joseph often jokes that she's like Alice in Wonderland, the second she cries she floods the house. <em>And</em> they're too far apart, those eyes of hers, not like any other woman she's seen. She thinks it may be similar to that of her father, but when she tries to think of the man, she sees a vague blur behind her eyelids.</p><p>No matter. No need to think of a father anyways, Dolores lives in <em>Westview</em>. Why would she need anything other than what she has?</p><p> </p><p>---</p><p> </p><p>Dolores is pruning out the weeds the day she meets Wanda.</p><p>"Excuse me," a voice says, smooth as silk and sweet as honey. Dolores looks up and spots the woman, and immediately thinks: Marilyn. It's almost <em>uncanny</em>.</p><p>But when she looks up, she doesn't see that Marilyn smile that she'll idly glance at in newspapers. Instead, the woman- <em>Wanda</em>, she knows her name, she knows and she doesn't know <em>why</em>- gives her a look. It's the look she sees when Joseph speaks to a colleague when he's not at work. It's like Wanda knows her, and yet she can't name where from.</p><p>"Can I help you?" </p><p>Wanda snaps her eyes to hers at this, and then smiles, something bashful in her expression. "I saw the vases outside your house. I was wondering where you got them? They're <em>gorgeous</em>."</p><p>"Oh!" Dolores smiles, her face flushing. "I made them! I mean, it's relatively easy, not at first, I mean. But, I can make them for you if you like?"</p><p>Wanda blinks, something amused in her eyes. "You'd do that?</p><p>"I mean, what are neighbours for? And that's me- your neighbour, that is."</p><p>Why is she being this awkward? As per usual. Typical, stupid Dolores.</p><p>"I was going to say. You do look familiar..."</p><p>"Well," Dolores says, wiping dirt off her skirt as she rises, she feels the need to be on her best behaviour around Wanda, like she's a student in front of a particularly strict teacher. "I'm Dolores. It's a- a pleasure."</p><p>"I'm Wanda," she says, even if Dolores already <em>knows</em>, holding her hand out. Dolores in turn shakes it, and then:</p><p>Flashes.</p><p><em>Pain</em>. Red <em>everywhere</em>, in the air, the <em>eyes</em>, red, it's colour she can see colours again it's been <em>so long</em> why couldn't she see <em>colours</em> what did Wanda <em>do</em> she thought she was a hero did the glitch make her evil she needs to talk to her father she needs her <em>dad</em>-</p><p>The hand is released. Dolores flinches slightly, something in the back of her head receding. </p><p>"Are you okay?"</p><p>Dolores snaps her eyes to Wanda, who's watching her with plain confusion. She chuckles, hoping it doesn't sound forced. And why would it sound forced? Dolores is having an off day, apparently.</p><p>"Sorry, sudden headache."</p><p>Wanda frowns at that. "My husband can help with that. He’s a man- a <em>real</em> man, completely human- an expert on medicine. He can help?"</p><p>Dolores blinks at that. “I’m sure it’ll fade,” she says, slowly, wondering what being a <em>complete human</em> would do to solve a migraine. It’s endearing though. She likes the thought of being cared for, and wonders if she had a husband of her own that would coddle her. Perhaps Joseph would make her soup if she had a cold? She’s not sure what her husband would do in that situation, really.</p><p>“Well, what do we have here!”</p><p>Why does Dolores perk up at that voice? Why does her stomach squirm? She wants to raise her head from where it's beginning to sink into her neck, but she's afraid it'll send waves of more <em>pain</em>, that’s been building and building for no apparent reason.</p><p>From the corner of her eye, though, Agnes is entering the frame, a small bag under her arm. Her smile is bright and sunny, but Dolores knows when tension is present in her neighbour. And Agnes seems to be <em>brimming</em> with it.</p><p>“Leave you dolls for two seconds and here you are having a mother’s meeting! Well, fill me in on the gossip.”</p><p>“Dolores here has a headache. I’ll ask Vision if he can help.”</p><p><em>Vision</em>.</p><p>A <em>robot</em> he came because of <em>Ultron</em> he’s <em>dead</em> he <em>died</em> he can’t be real none of this is <em>real</em>-</p><p>A hand places itself on the small of her back.</p><p>“Easy, silly,” a voice murmurs; Dolores only realises she’s hunching over when she rises and feels the hand clutch the fabric of her cardigan. Dolores brings her fingers and squeezes the top of her nose. Her head is pounding and she doesn’t remember <em>why</em>.</p><p>“I’ll take this one on a walk round the block.” She hears a voice over her shoulder, the tone final.</p><p>“Are you sure she’s okay?”</p><p>“Right as rain, darling! Suffers from these a lot, all she needs is some fresh air, and for me to talk her ears off.”</p><p>She’s never had a headache before, in front of Agnes. Why is Agnes <em>lying?</em></p><p>“If you’re sure,” Wanda says cautiously; the edge of her sentence laced with skepticism.</p><p>“Never been surer, honey, will only be a mo! Oh my, is that a new blouse? Oh, I just <em>know</em> that <em>Vision</em> got it for you! Most Ralph’s gotten <em>me</em> is a bottle of wine that mysteriously went missing. He still pins it on the mailman! See you soon, gorgeous!”</p><p>Dolores feels herself being pulled along, the weight of Agnes’s arm wrapped around her waist surprisingly light. All Dolores can do is let it happen, sighing as she feels a thumb rub a circle over the material of her skirt, where she knows her hip bone to be.</p><p>“Feeling queasy?” Agnes asks lightly.</p><p>Dolores nods her head, breathing slowly to reduce the pounding. It's <em>horrible</em>, she hasn't <em>ever</em> felt anything like this before. Should she tell Jo? She's scared of what he would say, if she's honest.</p><p>"Sorry, I don't know what happened. It'll pass."</p><p>"Oh, sure. Seems a common theme in this town, sudden mood swings. Maybe the <em>water's</em> infected!"</p><p>Dolores straightens slightly, feeling the loosening of the thumps that are rioting in her brain. It's leaving alarmingly quickly, and now Dolores is only beginning to feel guilty. Guilty, at leaving Wanda so rudely. </p><p>"You think the water's infected," she chuckles, aiming to lighten her own mood and ease the shame. Agnes shrugs next to her, eyeing Dolores with something that almost appears <em>mocking</em>. But it can't be, because what is there to mock?</p><p>"Only natural explanation, no? Hows that headache doing, silly girl?"</p><p>Dolores nods, surprised when drums don't bang inside her skull at the action. "Much better- thank you-"</p><p>"<em>Nope</em>. No thanking me. It's what neighbours do, silly girl!"</p><p>"You like calling me that. <em>Silly girl</em>, I mean."</p><p>Agnes hums, sly. "What do you want me to call you? <em>Hmm</em>?"</p><p>Dolores doesn't really know. She likes the nickname, if she's being truthful. And she doesn't really see Dolores as suiting her, doesn't feel particularly comfortable with it when she's addressed. So she says nothing, and allows the silence to cling to them as they walk.</p><p>This does not last long.</p><p>“I don’t think you and Wanda mesh well,” Agnes says- <em>announces</em>- casually, continuing her pace as if what she’s saying isn’t something that she should perhaps discuss eye to eye, in this privacy of their homes. “It would probably be best if there was distance between you two, hmm? Can’t have that scandalous neighbourhood gossip after all!”</p><p>Dolores wants to halt in her tracks, bemused at what she’s hearing, but Agnes is marching steadily; she knows if she were to stop, she’d be yanked along.</p><p>“I’m sorry?”</p><p>“Oh don’t get me wrong, Wanda’s a fox! But, and don’t take offence girly, it seems to me like you’re rubber and she’s glue.”</p><p>Dolores is bewildered.</p><p>When have she and Wanda clashed in the five minutes of knowing each other? Dolores would never be mean to anyone, wouldn’t want to hurt anybody. And then that makes her widen her eyes.</p><p>“Rubber and glue? Do you mean- Have I upset her?”</p><p>Of course! Who would leave so early after meeting someone, let alone a neighbour? She knew she was being <em>rude</em>. </p><p>Now Agnes <em>does</em> stop, the movement jerking Dolores slightly. “Oh honey <em>no</em>,” she says, the corners of her lips down turned. “No no no, I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t hurt a fly!It’s just Wanda. Not <em>you</em>.”</p><p>Dolores is even more baffled. “I don’t understand what the problem is- has she said something? I didn’t mean to offend anyone, I wouldn’t-“</p><p>“Silly girl,” Agnes says, pouting her lips and patting the top of her head. Dolores is small but not a child, and she feels irritation brewing at the condescending action. “This is my fault, honey. I<span class="Apple-converted-space"> say things without being <em>gentle</em>. You know they say about old habits, you know? All I'm <em>trying</em> to say is that our lovely Wanda is...an <em>acquired taste</em>, if you will. I don't want you getting- <em>hurt</em>. So to speak."</span></p><p>
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">Dolores frowns.</span>
</p><p>“You don’t like Wanda very much,” she says, and instantly wants to take it back. Agnes tries to play it off, she can tell, but her neighbour has gone rigid in the shoulders, her eyes hardening ever so slightly. It’s all so subtle, but Dolores is perceptive. Perhaps it’s not a great quality, in this moment.</p><p>“I don’t know what you mean, silly! Wandas my girl!”</p><p>“You’re right,” Dolores back tracks as soon as she can: she <em>won’t</em> lose a friend because of her foot wanting to find a home in her mouth. “I say stupid things, I don’t <em>think</em>.”</p><p>“Maybe you think <em>too much</em>,” Agnes says. Coming from anyone else that would sound like a scold. From Agnes, it sounds like she’s commenting on the weather. “I’m beginning to want to pick apart your thoughts.”</p><p>Agnes is very strange.</p><p>Luckily, they reach Dolores’s house, her heart slows down at the safety of knowing she’ll be in her own home, away from offending anybody. Perhaps Mittens will be up: she always sleeps sporadically; seeing as she’s a homebody. Dolores thinks if she were a cat, she’d be just like Mittens.</p><p><em>Unluckily</em>, Agnes follows her to the porche.</p><p>“Why on <em>earth</em> do you think I dislike Wanda?” She asks, leaning against the door. It looks unconcerned, but it’s blocking Dolores’s exit. Ironic, that the door into her own home is an <em>exit</em>.</p><p>“I was wrong. Clearly,” Dolores says quickly, biting the inside of her cheek. Agnes, meanwhile, doesn’t seem convinced. Her face is placid, expression jovial, and to anyone looking at the scene in front of them it would seem little more than a friendly conversation between two ladies. But there’s something <em>wary</em> in those eyes. Something swirling in the depths of those mischievous orbs.</p><p>Dolores is <em>perceptive.</em></p><p>“You’re definitely wrong. And I’d <em>hate</em> if you got the wrong idea about two <em>chicas</em> having a blast. You know?”</p><p>Dolores nods, perhaps too rapid to be a casual concession.</p><p>“I’m sorry I said that- I don’t think, I’m- I’m stupid like that. Foot in mouth syndrome.”</p><p>Agnes sighs at that, her fingers twitching as if aching for an action. She sighs again as she drops her hand from her prior position, and when she suddenly steps into Dolores’s space, Dolores can’t help the hitch in her breath.</p><p>“What- what are you-?”</p><p>“Don’t put yourself down like that.” She states, the corners of her eyes severe. Her voice has changed too; whereas Agnes usually speaks with a light, jolly pitch, her vocals have practically dropped an octave. “You’re too smart to be acting like another idiot in this town.”</p><p>“There are no idiots in Westview,” Dolores says automatically, indignant denial pooling in her belly. “Westview is per-“</p><p>Agnes raises a finger against Dolores’s lips, her mouth shutting as she stares at her neighbour in trepidation, migraine long forgotten. This is a <em>complete</em> broach of personal space. She hasn’t- <em>no one</em> has ever been this <em>audacious</em> towards her.</p><p>“I’m getting <em>real</em> tired of hearing that, <em>silly girl</em>.”</p><p>Her finger hasn’t moved. Dolores remains frozen on the spot, that indignant feeling being replaced with something different, something she hasn’t felt before. How can one define a sensation they’ve never felt? Dolores is confounded.</p><p>Slowly, ever so <em>slowly</em>, Agnes lowers that finger, giving Dolores an expectant look. She nods again at that, knowing Agnes awaits an answer, and not trusting her voice to say anything. Especially not with Agnes’s breath rasping next to hers, a small, pleased smile plastering itself onto her face.</p><p>“Say you’re smart.”</p><p>Dolores finds her voice, wobbly as it is. This sensation is <em>strange</em>. </p><p>“I- I’m smart.”</p><p>The smile grows, Dolores sees a peak of canine from Agnes's smile. It's practically <em>demonic</em>. </p><p>“Good girl.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
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<a name="section0005"><h2>5. The Mask</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>everyone who's left kudos or comments you guys FEED MY SOUL your support is so lovely I can't thank you guys enough :)<br/>short chapter for now but have no fear I have something planned</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It never usually rains in Westview.</p><p>Dolores comes home rather put off; she’s drenched in water, her hair dragged down by the soak of rain, puddles forming on the front steps of her door. She wipes her feet on the welcome mat, grimacing at the mud that’s made in its wake.</p><p>Dolores feels her mood get worse by the minute, and that’s unusual. Unusual, and <em>ungrateful</em>.</p><p>“Joseph,” she calls out once she’s in the house, shuffling her coat off and placing it on the hanger. There’s no answer, he’s most likely with his work friends. That brings Dolores some sense of peace; Joseph has...an <em>interesting</em> friendship group. To say the least.</p><p>“Jo?” She tries again, taking her shoes off as she comes into the kitchen, already making dinner plans. It’s five, but Dolores is <em>starving</em>. She barely ate today, her mind elsewhere.</p><p>Dolores went to the edge of town, today.</p><p>It was strange. After her headache the day before, Dolores could barely focus. Her thoughts were swirling throughout her mind and yet she didn’t even know what she was thinking. How could she explain it? How could she explain herself, walking to the sign of Westview and staring at it, staring at it like it could give her answers.</p><p>But to <em>what questions</em>?</p><p>And then it had started raining, and Dolores had snapped out of...whatever inexplicable turmoil was pooling in her head like something was ready to burst out.</p><p>Inexplicable.</p><p>Dolores shakes her hair as if a dog, squeezing her ends rather aggressively, as if her rumination will leave with the soak. Making her way into her house, she hears low murmurs, which only stop as she enters the room. Dolores stops, too.</p><p>By the table is not only her husband, but additionally, her neighbour.</p><p>“Howdy, <em>neighbourino</em>!” Agnes exclaims, a mug in her hand that’s lifted up in salute. Next to her, Joseph stares at Dolores, disdain in his eyes.</p><p>“You’ve been gone awhile, darling.”</p><p>“I- yes, sorry, I went for a walk. Hi, Agnes- I didn’t realise you’d be coming over?”</p><p>“Well,” Agnes begins, looking her up and down. Dolores is slightly embarrassed; had she known Agnes was coming over, she would have come back sooner, changed into something more...fresh.</p><p>Not because of Agnes- changing is polite in general, there- she should make an effort with anyone! Especially <em>friends</em>! It's common courtesy, really.</p><p>“Ralph is <em>away</em>, not sure when that man will decide to return from his <em>merry adventures</em>. And between <em>us three</em>, I’m waiting for the day he leaves to go <em>get milk</em>, if you catch my meaning.”</p><p>“You’ve said that,” Joseph smiles, but Dolores knows when something is forced. It’s practically as if some invisible tug is lifting his cheeks for him, Joseph's never been the best at hiding his true feelings. Or maybe he's never cared to. </p><p>Agnes waves a hand, “I have to repeat my best material for my <em>best gal</em>! Anyways, in the boredom that is my housewife biography, I made my <em>famous</em> casserole. And I just thought, who’s the lucky person to taste this <em>art</em>? And who did I think of?”</p><p>“I can hazard a guess,” Dolores smiles, only growing wider at the chuckle that escapes Agnes. She drops the mug and places her cheek on her fist, gazing at Dolores with...fondness?</p><p>Something.</p><p>“Well, I’m <em>famished</em>,” Joseph says, staring at Dolores pointedly. “Why don’t you set the table, Dolores?”</p><p>“Please,” Agnes scoffs, moving up from her spot. “I’m the intruder! I’ll go get the plates.”</p><p>“Oh, Agnes, it’s really no problem-“</p><p>“I won’t hear any more from you, silly girl!”</p><p>
  <em>Good girl.</em>
</p><p>Dolores twitches, her heart beating slightly faster than she’d consider appropriate.</p><p>She can’t seem to get that voice out of her head.</p><p>If Dolores could define the feeling she had when Agnes had said it...it would at least answer <em>one question</em> in her life. </p><p>“How does she know where the plates are?” Joseph asks when she leaves the room, an edge in his tone that leaves Dolores baffled.</p><p>“She’s been round. At your party.”</p><p>“Let’s not make a habit of it,” Joseph mutters, practically glaring at Dolores. “I had to listen to that <em>incessant woman</em> yammer on for a good hour. How can one speak about everything yet nothing at all? <em>Women</em>.”</p><p>“I like her.” Dolores states, surprised at the steel that emerges in her words. She blinks, and Joseph does too. She’s caught him off guard, clearly.</p><p>He masks his face- a change- rolling his eyes, “you like everyone.”</p><p>“Give her a chance,” Dolores says, softening the end of her sentence to not appear confrontational. She <em>likes</em> Agnes, and it would make her life easier if Jo liked her, too.</p><p>“I don’t waste time, darling,” Joseph begins, speaking to her slowly, like she’s a child. Dolores is not a <em>child</em>; she knows that her jaw is threatening to clench. “I’m a busy man.”</p><p>"Be nice, Jo," Dolores whispers, unsure why she's being this persistent. Her spouse isn't one to change his ways, once his beliefs are cemented. "She's my <em>friend</em>."</p><p>"Why do you need friends, Dolores? You have <em>me</em>."</p><p>“Here we go!” Agnes’s voice chimes in, she’s gathered plates with cutlery on top. But, Dolores notes, there are only two plates. And two knives and forks. </p><p>“Are you not eating?” She asks, already a protest on the tip of her tongue. Agnes just laughs, placing a hand over her chest.</p><p>It’s really not that funny. It’s not even <em>funny</em>.</p><p>“Of course silly, I could eat a <em>horse</em> right about now! But I know poor Jo’s going to bed, what with that <em>fever</em> your poor husbands got.”</p><p>
  <em>What?</em>
</p><p>Dolores turns to Joseph, a question in her gaze. Joseph reflects her bafflement; he stares at Agnes with incredulity.</p><p>“I beg your pardon?”</p><p>“A fever,” Agnes says lightly, but she’s<em> pressing</em>, and Dolores would rather go back into the rain, having an unmistakable urge to sprint away. “You have a fever. <em>Jo</em>.”</p><p>The air in the room is thick. Dolores doesn’t move, and neither does anyone else. Joseph and Agnes look at each other; Dolores knows the look on Joseph's face- it's the one he has when he speaks of a clumsy client. Agnes is, to him, a nuisance, and someone that, as Joseph mentioned, does not have time for. </p><p>But Agnes just stares at him expectantly.</p><p>And that's when it happens.</p><p>Joseph coughs, a sound at first exhaled as something casual. And then he coughs again, the sound deeper, more guttural.</p><p>And again.</p><p>And then, perspiration shines on his forehead.</p><p>Joseph is beginning to sweat. </p><p>"I don't," Joseph begins, trying to speak between the rasps that he's very much unable to leave him. Dolores unfreezes from her state of shock, coming over and rubbing a hand over his back. His face is paling, Dolores has never seen something like this happen so <em>rapidly</em>. </p><p>"I don't know what's come over me."</p><p>"I saw it earlier," Agnes shrugs, Dolores gazes at her neighbour, standing there while picking at her nails. Her voice is practically mechanical, as if she's uninterested to the point of not even <em>trying</em> to appear comforting. "Didn't want to be rude, say you looked as white as a sheet. Thought you'd go upstairs. Sleep it off."</p><p>Then she gasps, Dolores can hear her mocking tone, however much she's not trying to show it. "Here's an idea, how about you go to bed! <em>Sleep it off</em>."</p><p>"I'll take you to bed," Dolores says immediately, grasping her husband upwards. He waves her off, anger shining in his eyes as his throat closes in and out. "You're not my <em>handler</em>, Dolores."</p><p>"You don't seem to know <em>how</em> to handle yourself, honey. Isn't <em>your wife</em> the one that's been in the rain? Where's <em>her</em> cough?" Agnes laughs like it's a joke. </p><p>Dolores supposes, any statement can be taken as a joke, if you laugh at the end of it.</p><p>"I'm going to bed," he says; fury in his countenance. Whether he is trembling in rage or in spasms that wrack through his body, Dolores is unsure. "It was a pleasure. <em>Agnes</em>."</p><p>"Yep, get better soon, have some tea, etcetera." Agnes waves, not looking at the man that trudges up the stairs, the beginnings of sniffles escaping him. She begins to set the table, humming under her breath as the echoes of chokes are heard even after Dolores hears the door shut. </p><p>"So, what <em>wine</em> should we have? I'm partial to red, creature of habit, I'm afraid. What can I say? <em>Women</em>. Am I right?"</p><p>Dolores has <em>seen this</em> before.</p><p>Dottie Jones snapped straight from a glance at her neighbour. And Agnes did <em>not</em> live next to Dolores two weeks ago; Dolores would know. And now Joseph, perfectly healthy Joseph, who doesn't pack tissues when she suggests it because <em>illness can be prevented with fine living, darling</em>, is now upstairs sweating profusely. Does Agnes think her <em>stupid</em>?</p><p>Dolores is not a fool. Dolores has <em>questions</em>, and Agnes knows something, she's <em>doing</em> something, and everyone's turned a blind eye.</p><p>She shouldn't say anything. She can't taint Westview. </p><p>Yet.</p><p>Dolores whips round to Agnes, who regards her with sharp eyes, keen interest swirling in her orbs as Dolores reveals the anger etched into her face.</p><p>"What did you <em>do</em>, Agnes?"</p><p>Agnes blinks.</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>pray for Jo I heard he has a fever :(</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Let me know what you think! xxx</p></blockquote></div></div>
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